“What?” Hugh said. “Arrested?”
Kensley leaned his forearms on the table. “Didn’t you hear? This afternoon they arrested Philippe Larue.”
“Who’s Philippe Larue?” Aleida asked.
“He’s a leader amongst the French communists in London.” Hugh frowned. “Why do they suspect Larue?”
“His handwriting matches the death threat sent to Hastings,” Kensley said. “And as a communist, he hated how Jouveau supported de Gaulle and encouraged the French to resist the Germans—the Soviets’ allies.”
“Jouveau said the murderer wasn’t French.” Gil pounded his beer glass on the table. “It’s one of Hastings’s political enemies, I know it. Someone angry that Hastings couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Sure made me angry.”
Hugh exchanged a glance with Aleida. That anger had led him to toy with suspecting Gil.
“Remember?” Gil poked Hugh in the arm. “Remember the last time we saw Jouveau? He knew who the murderer was. I think the murderer knew that he knew. That’s why he killed him.”
Hugh stared into Gil’s bleary but adamant eyes. Would Jouveau have said that in front of Gil if he’d thought Gil was the murderer? Of course not.
“I never cared for Hastings.” Gil shook his head heavily. “I never cared for Jouveau. But I care for justice. They deserve justice.”
If Gil were guilty, he’d be glad the police had arrested Larue and were distracted from him. And Gil was too drunk to lie effectively.
Hugh gave Gil’s back one final pat. “Thank you, Gil. That means a lot to me.”
“They do.” Aleida’s voice and her chin quivered. “They do deserve justice.”
So did Aleida and Theo.
Yet justice eluded them all.
29
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY28, 1941
Outside the Foreign Office building facing St. James’s Park, Aleida peeked around the base of a statue. With the veil on her hat shielding her eyes and a scarf around her neck concealing her hairstyle, Mr. Randolph wouldn’t recognize her.
Since he’d threatened to ring the police if she came to his house again, he wouldn’t hesitate to do so if he realized she was following him.
In twelves, she counted the men leaving the white Italianate building, the rhythm familiar and soothing. She’d never been in more control.
Miss Granville’s order had been devastating, but only temporarily. Visiting towns, inquiring of billeting officers—that method of searching for her son depended on serendipity. Why continue an inefficient process when there was a man who knew Theo’s precise location?
Mr. Randolph had refused to tell Aleida in words, but he could tell her in actions.
Surely he visited his wife in the country on occasion.
It wasn’t prudent for Aleida to follow him, nor for Hugh, so she hadn’t asked him to help. But Louisa had agreed.
One morning last week, Louisa had followed Mr. Randolph from his home to the Foreign Office, confirming that he did work there. Now to follow him to the country.
But today Louisa had been called away for a story. She’d tried to dissuade Aleida from going herself, but she couldn’t let a Friday slip past. Every week, every day, her son drifted further from her.
Where was that man? One, two, three, four, five—
“Aleida?”
She spun around. “Hugh? What are you doing here?”
His fedora shadowed his eyes. “Louisa told me what you’re doing.”
